I’ve been thinking a lot
about the Great Depression.
I know I am not alone.
Sure, news media have
been making comparisons
since last year, but you
can’t listen to them. But
when the front-line, realtime,
down-home media
(that would be you and me)
start examining the ways
that our current downturn/
recession/collapse/meltdown
is similar to what
happened in the 1930s in
the U.S and Europe, it’s
time to listen. When layoffs
are no longer something
that happened to a
friend of a friend or your
cousin’s ex-husband, but
rather a reality for your
friends and neighbors, it’s
time to listen. When great,
big things are being tried
and the economy still seems
to be sinking, it’s time to
listen.
The problem is, we don’t
have anything but numbers
to help us compare what
has happened/is happening
and to project how it will
ultimately affect all of us.
Unfortunately, numbers
and economic theory are
best at telling you about
numbers and economic theory.
They have less to say
about individual human beings.
And to even try to extrapolate
Depression-era
history and make a forecast
for the Millennial Meltdown
is to invite gross miscalculations.
Yes, we care about the
economics of it. We want to
keep our jobs or find good
ones. We want to keep our
3,000-square-foot homes.
We want to send our children
to high quality schools
that are well staffed and
fully equipped. We want to
``cut back’’ by eating out
fewer times per week, doing
less reckless and impulsive
clothes shopping, buying
a more fuel-efficient
car.
In short, the average
American is approaching
this broad economic crisis
like a bunch of Herbert
Hoovers. We can’t possibly
give up the gym memberships,
yoga classes or personal
trainers because,
without them, we worry
about being too fat.
Friends, that’s not deprivation.
One pair of shoes
My grandmother,
Stormy, was born in 1912,
in Pensacola, Florida. She
passed away late last year,
living proof that all the
things that won’t kill you
actually do make you stronger.
And maybe meaner.
Certainly more neurotic.
But no less loved.
The Deep South, and
Pensacola in particular, began
experiencing harsh
economic tides around the
time my grandmother was
5. The next year, a massive
flu epidemic swept the
globe, and didn’t do a thing
to make matters in Pensacola
any better. They made
things in Stormy’s world a
whole lot worse. She and
her 26-year-old mother,
Mollie, both fell ill with the
disease. Stormy survived,
as many children did. And
like many adults in the
prime of life, Mollie did not
survive. She died, seven
months pregnant, on her
27th birthday.
Stormy was classic
Greatest Generation (Great
Depression) material.
She and her siblings
owned one pair of shoes
each, and in order to keep
them looking good for school
and not wear them out prematurely,
they walked to
school barefoot, then
cleaned their feet and put
on their shoes before class.
Every recipe she learned to
cook could feed a whole
family on half a pound of
meat. (And that’s a Catholic
family, mind you.) To
the day she died, she believed
that the deadliest sin
of all was not envy, lust or
pride but waste.
Much farther to fall
Most of us aren’t living
anywhere close to the kind
of sustainable life that people
were already living before
the Great Depression.
Many families were already
living with multiple generations
in a single household.
What were a few extra
cousins and aunts and
uncles? Throwing away
left-over food? Only if you
were giving it to an animal
who would repay you in
milk or cheese or meat.
Even the very definition
of need was different. My
grandmother didn’t need a
new pair of shoes until another
round of repairs was
just not possible. And when
she did get ``new’’ shoes,
they came from her older
sister, who had gotten them
from a cousin or neighbor,
who had gotten them from
an older sister. I’m no
mathematician, but according
to my calculations, only
27 pairs of girls’ shoes were
manufactured between
1929 and 1940. They were
passed around the country,
from sister to sister to cousin
to friend.
My calculations also tell
me that, even if the Millennial
Meltdown takes only a
fraction of the economic toll
of the Great Depression,
the day-to-day social toll
could be much, much greater.
Elizabeth Trever Buchinger
is fully diversified.
You can connect with her at
www.moremindfulfamily.
